Hawthorne Was to Blame
by ubiquitousantiquitous
Summary: During a hopelessly sleepy morning in bed, Harley decides to tell Pam a story, one sadly similar to her own.


**Anonymous: Fanfic idea: harley & ivy- cute, giggly morning together**

**x**

**Hell yeah!**

**Note: I reference something called **_**Rappaccini's Daughter**_**, by Nathaniel Hawthorne in this fic. The story is in part the basis of Ivy's origin, so I thought it'd be fun to related it to these two cuties.**

**x**

Pam wasn't a morning person, she was a sun person. It was a common misconception that she would be easy to wake come morning light, but if it wasn't visible the woman was more difficult to budge than Excalibur by the hand of some random guy passing by. Nodding to herself, Harley resolved that she and Pam would watch _The Sword in the Stone _after lunch.

Outside, a thunderstorm howled over the city of Gotham, filling its streets and sloshing at every jutting building with hammering rain. Ordinarily, it was a sound that would have Harley deep in sleep, too, but a crash of thunder had woken her about fifteen minutes ago. It wasn't obscenely early, but seeing Pam all tucked in, wrapped in blankets beside her, made her envious of the redhead's ability to sleep through anything.

She was ready to start the day, but Pam had her waist locked in a tight grip. A secondary, but equally common misconception about the elusive, beautiful, exceptionally svelte Poison Ivy was that she was all flash, no substance. Like many supers with powers that didn't lend them Superman-level strength, it was often thought they couldn't throw a punch. Or strong-arm their innocent girlfriend's waist in her sleep like a favorite teddy bear.

They were wrong.

Harley wanted to wake her girl, but gently. Nothing made Pam-a-Lamb grumpier than being awake when she absolutely didn't want to be. If Harley could coax her into waking herself, the crisis would be averted.

Struggling, straining, Harley rolled onto her side, reaching for the lamp on the bedside table. Thankfully, it was touch activated, but that still meant she had to reach it. Honestly, the sounds of her struggling should've been enough to wake Pam, but no dice. Of course.

"Come…on…" Harley grunted, her fingertips just shy of the gold metal. Cursing, she lurched forward one last time, and their dark bedroom now bore a tinge of cozy gold light. At the low cost of half the buttons on her button-down shirt; they'd burst off in the tug-o-war with Pam's shockingly buff left arm. "Red, goddamn it."

Pam inhaled deeply, muttering something incoherent, and drew Harley back in again. Her chin was pointy on Harley's shoulder.

"Red, _goddamn _it." Harley was back at square one. With Pam's head buried in beside her the light made no difference. "Red? _Reeeeeed_. If ya wake up, I'll make breakfast. Strawberry waffles, ya fave."

Pam grunted, and Harley nearly lost it. There was one benefit to waking before Pam, and it was that it was then that she was her most human. No defenses, no pretenses; Harley could almost believe that your average dork was in bed beside her, not a literal goddess among men. No exaggeration; if this were ancient Greece, Pam would be pampered and worshipped as the goddess of the harvest Demeter without fail. Or burned alive for being a sorceress. History was unkind to women of power.

"Ya ever read something in school called _Rappaccini's Daughter_, Red?"

Harley, like always when Pam decided to sleep in, keeping her hostage, resorted to small talk the redhead may or may not hear. Harley was plenty strong, stronger than Pam even, but her muscles turned to mush whenever they touched, and Red was touching about 47% of her at the moment. She managed, however, to nudge herself upward, so that her arm rested comfortably under Pam, and the older woman's head relaxed onto her chest. Harley took bits of the flowery hair (verbena today; last week it smelled exactly of cardamom, the week before that safflower), and began braiding the strands.

"Well, I read it in college. Ya'd be surprised how many farty old stories were about crazy people. Anyway, this scientist that studied plants, that's Rappaccini, he has this kid, right? I forget what happened to the wife, but she ain't in the picture. Anyway, the kid—Bellatrix? Nah, that's _Harry Potter_. Bea…Beatrice! Beatrice is this pretty little thing that her old man wouldn't let go anywhere. Just this garden full of poisonous stuff—you just moaned, but I'm gonna pretend it wasn't because you only heard the stuff about a Death Wish garden. So Beatrice, 'cause of all this time in the garden, she becomes immune them, but becomes toxic to the touch.

"So this guy, his name's Giovanni, he ends up seeing Beatrice, even though he was never supposed ta. Sometimes, that scene just plays in my head. Him, looking out that window, seein' her looking at all those plants like they're the only things that're ever gonna love her. She wasn't for him; they weren't supposed to fall in love. I think that's why he starts to fall for her, y'know? People shouldn't think that they can't be loved; so he decided to love her so she wouldn't be alone.

"Eh, saying it out loud sounds like he was stupid, but he wasn't. Or maybe he was. Love makes people dumb. And selfish. In the end, Giovanni's body changes, and he and Beatrice are the only two for each other in the whole world, because now he's toxic, too. This is where I think that Giovanni's just kind of an ass, because he decides that what he has with Beatrice isn't enough. He gets someone to make an antidote, that way he and Beatrice and be together and live happily ever after and not have to be freaks.

"Backfires, though. The pretty thing just shrivels up and dies; all those poisons finally had a way to get at her. Bastard should've realized you can't change people just because you want them to be what you want them to be."

"'_Blessed are all simple emotions, be they dark or bright_,'" Pam raised her head, her hair strewn messily along her forehead from Harley's sad attempt to make a braided crown for her Beatrice. Her eyes, almost phosphorescently green in the light of the lamp, were still clouded with sleep. "I read it once, too. It's the only line I really recall. Sorry, though. I hated the damn story. It hit too close to home."

Harley, suddenly guilty, began to undo the sloppy mess she'd made of Pam's hair. Red eased at her touch. "Y'realize that line's from a part where Giovanni pretty much poetically details his boner, right?"

A wickedly crooked grin on her face, Pam turned so she could curl around Harley. "So be it. Um…okay, Harl, dumb question, but why are your shirt buttons all over the bed? I was asleep, you know. Not exactly a good time to try and get it o—"

"Hey, hey, hey, _you _did this, ya darn hippie, not me." Harley smoothed the misused hair with gentle strokes; she ceased, because Pam's eyes began to droop at her movements. "I moved to turn on the light and you held on so fierce ya nearly ripped the damn thing off me."

"Hmph. Well, I guess my subconscious knew what it wanted." Pam muttered. "I'm hungry."

"If we ever get out of this bed, I can make waffles."

"If? If is good," Harley wondered if Pam knew she was quoting a Disney movie, considering she only recently began watching them at Harley's request (read: demand). "And you always say you'll make them as if you actually make them. You buy so many Eggos you should have stock in the company."

"I like things quick, easy, and sweet."

Pam's chuckle vibrated in Harley's ear. She shuddered when Pam's smooth, bare leg slowly brushed hers. "Funny. Sounds like you're suggesting what my subconscious was thinking."

For the moment, Harley let Pam draw her deeper into the blankets, but only because what they were going to do wouldn't allow for Red to fall back asleep—if she did, Harley would never let her hear the end of it.

x

"Butter."

"Butter!" Harley shouted back, tossing a stick over her shoulder from the fridge to Pam.

"Milk."

"Milk!" She flung the unopened carton; Red caught it with ease. They had this down to a science.

"Kiss."

"Kiss!" Harley flipped backward, landing behind Pam and planting a peck on her neck. "Wow…that toast is mighty burnt."

"Well, if _someone _had let me get up from the chair a few seconds earlier, it wouldn't be a problem." Harley could feel the blush brewing beneath Pam's skin. It wasn't Harley's fault though; Pam was the one who didn't know how to end a kiss, not her, no matter what her girl insisted. "I can't believe Selina ate all the waffles."

"I can, she eats like a boy." Harley sighed, pining for a big stack of the crispy things, drowning in syrup and butter and powdered sugar.

"One of these days, one of us is gonna have to learn how to make breakfast." Pam noted, setting their places at the table. She filled two sets of glasses. Two had milk, the other two appeared to be filled with orange juice, but Harley knew with sad finality that it was actually an offensive mixture of grapefruit, lemon, and mint. Pam called it a picker-upper, Harley said that there's a reason the term was also another phrase for pooper-scooper. "Or we may starve to death when Selina decides to wake up before us more than every once in a while."

"Hey, hey! I _can _make breakfast, but a certain Little Miss 'I've made my body a vessel for all plant-life, I can't forsake my sacred systems with _meat_' won't eat eggs and bakey like the rest of the planet." Harley mournfully bit into the burnt toast. There wasn't enough grape jelly in the world to cover the bitter charred flavor, but she had to try. "But I love ya _anyway_."

Pam rolled her eyes. The sound of a buzzer tore through the house. "Did you leave the television on?"

Harley winced. Red wasn't too fond of TV, and it was a rule of hers that they weren't to be left going if you left the room.

"Sorry, Red," Harley put on her best pout. "I was so hungry, I forgot."

"What were you watching?" Pam cocked her head, eyes closed. "Oh, Harl. Gymnastics competitions again? I thought we talked about this; you're only hurting yourself."

Now, the food was utterly flavorless in Harley's mouth, and not in a pleasant way. She tapped her plate with the briquette of bread.

"Could've been me, Red." Harley muttered miserably. A fat tear fell onto her plate, and she dropped her toast with it. She pressed her sticky hands to her face. "Could've been me."

For once, Harley was grateful for Pam not being the type to fly in and soothe out every ache with coos and kisses, not aches like this. Old ones, ones Harley should have given up long ago. After all, she'd made the choice to go into psychiatry instead when she was entirely sane. And that made it sting all the more.

"But," Pam spoke up softly, her tone just warped enough that Harley had to take her hands away and look at her, to see the face that accompanied the tone. Her eyes were closed, cheeks flushed, a conflicting smile on her face. "But if you had taken that path, you wouldn't be who you are now. Twisted as your roads have gone, Sweet Pea, they've taken you to the woman you are now. Surely, that counts for something."

Harley, mesmerized, leaned hurriedly forward and pressed her lips to Pam's. Pam, startled, flinched backward, but not out of the kiss. Harley leaned in further—her feet lost grip with the tile floor.

And that was how Selina walked in on them, making out on the kitchen table.

"Goddamn it, you guys, we _eat there!_" Selina dropped her groceries onto the counter, a snarl on her face as Pam and Harley separated. "Can't you…you…_sex fiends _keep it in your pants for more than five minutes? You guys are worse than newlyweds; worse, because you've known each other for so long! Do you plan this? Do you purposefully wait for me to walk in the door to do this stuff? If so, quit it! I'm too old for this shit."

Harley leaned up and kissed Selina's cheek. Selina swatted the spot like it was a fresh mosquito bite.

"What the hell was that for?" Selina demanded.

Harley shrugged. "I dunno; I thought you were upset because you felt left out. Everyone likes kisses, Kitty Cat."

Selina threw her hands into the air, leaving the room.

"Oh, look," Pam dug into the grocery bags, surprise on her face. "Waffles."

Harley gasped. "What flavor?!"

Pam turned the box over. "Whole grain."

"Blasphemy. Throw that shit away."

Pam, rolling her eyes, put two waffles in the toaster (for _herself_, clearly) and put them away. Her expression was panicked when she slammed the freezer door shut.

"You left the TV on," she said.

"Yeah?" Harley cracked her neck, immediately adopting the same expression as Pam. "The gymnastics—"

"SONUVA FUCKING BITCH!"

Ah. Like Harley, that _also _could have been Selina once. Only, Selina reacted to certain types of sadness differently. Violently. Currently, it sounded like she was flipping the furniture, her screaming sounding more like the hisses and screeches of a cat's by the second.

"Wanna go to the park?" Pam suggested over Selina's rage.

"Definitely," Harley nodded, breaking into a run. "Race you to the bedroom!"

"Cheater!"

Pam called after her, trying to close the distance. Given what just happened in the kitchen, once they reached the bedroom, they probably wouldn't make it to the park for at least another hour. That was fine by Harley; the rain made her and her girl sleepy, anyway.


End file.
